The alarm on his phone hadn't gone off yet, but Luke was already awake. He lay flat on his back, staring at the faint seam where the drywall met the ceiling, waiting for the ordinary sounds of Seishu City to wake the rest of the house.
But the morning quiet didn't feel peaceful today. It felt hollow.
In the silence, the words from that day didn't return as a sudden shock; they just slowly bled back into his consciousness, like ink soaking through a damp page.
"They won't let us roam free for long"
Luke didn't flinch. He just closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his left hand tightening into a fist against the bedsheet. The violet veins beneath his skin gave a faint, reluctant pulse before receding into the dark. The "shell" of his normal life was still there, sitting on the hanger in the form of his school uniform, but as he finally sat up, he knew the cracks were already showing.
Luke took out his phone from under the pillow, staring at his reflection for just a second. It lit up, its background void like he was. He glanced at the phone's clock, it was 5:30 am, but the sun barely brushed the houses in the neighborhood. He swiftly got off the bed, walking across the room as he reached for the door.
He stepped into the landing, each footstep making no sound on the wooden floor. The movement felt practiced, efficient, and absent. Luke kept walking, ignoring his silent steps as he headed toward the bathroom. Before he could continue, he paused near the door to his left.
The door was glowing a bright magenta, catching the light of the landing. It was flooded with glittery kitty stickers all over ,and added glitter making it look like a child's bedroom from the outside.
Luke's hand stayed on the brass doorknob. He didn't knock. He just twisted it slowly, letting the latch click open.
The room smelled like strawberry fabric softener and old manga—Miku's world.
It was dark, except for the blue glare of a laptop screen on the bed. Miku was buried under a pile of blankets, her chin on her knees, headphones clamped over her ears. On the monitor, anime characters flashed across the screen, illuminating her wide, completely invested eyes.
She was totally defenseless. Completely safe.
Luke stood in the doorway, his silhouette cutting through the magenta light of her stickers. Watching her mindlessly enjoying herself—free from the weight of Vatican tracking or demonic contracts—felt like looking at a world he had been locked out of years ago.
Slowly, the cold, analytical "Ghost" in his mind began to recede. The physical ache in his arm didn't vanish, but the tension in his chest loosened, forced away by the sheer normalcy of a little girl pulling an all-nighter.
He leaned against the frame, forcing his face into a tired, familiar smirk. He tapped the wood.
Miku jumped, her blanket mountain collapsing as her head snapped toward him. She yanked her headphones down, her magenta eyes wide with guilt.
"Onii-chan! You scared me!" she hissed, scrambling to minimize the video player. "What are you doing creeping around like a ninja at five in the morning?!"
"I could ask you the same thing," Luke said, his voice slipping perfectly back into his brother mask. He nodded toward the screen. "Is that the episode you were crying about at dinner? You're going to fail that pop quiz today, idiot."
"Boo, you're no fun onii-chan," Miku pouted, stepping out of her bed despite her protest. "Whatever, school doesn't start until seven anyway, but my onii-chan is still being extra."
"Better than filling your brain with dopamine for an hour straight," he sighed, pointing to the door. "Go. Get. Ready. Now."
Luke looked at his sister's pouty face, annoying—but innocent. He let out a small chuckle and without thinking he cupped her face, leaning in to press his forehead against hers.
The gesture caught her completely off guard. Miku froze, blinking rapidly as her forehead met his. For a second, her usual bratty comeback failed to arrive, leaving her staring at him in stunned confusion.
Miku stared at him,only for a moment. She quickly puffed her cheeks. "What was that?"
Luke blinked. "What was what?"
"That," she pointed frantically at her forehead.
"You're being dramatic."
"Oh, I'm being dramatic?!"
Luke sighed, shaking his head tiredly, "you stayed up watching anime."
"That's not the point!" Miku countered.
"That's exactly the point, Miku."
Miku's eyes narrowed, quietly looking at the smile Luke put on. It looked normal but it felt off. "Liar," she stated.
"Excuse me?" Luke asked, his smile faltered slightly—but not enough for Miku to notice. He walked towards the corridor without looking back. "What do you mean by that?" He inquired.
"You always play nice when something is bothering you." Miku said, her tone blunt, but slightly tinged with concern.
Luke stiffened as his hand instinctively went to his damaged left arm ,gripping his forearm firmly. His veins bulged from under the sweatshirt, leaving a sharp, faint sting that almost made his arm go numb. But he chose to leave it for now.
He finally managed to speak, "whatever, just get ready. On the double."
Miku sighed, raising her hands in defeat. "Fine, fine," she conceded, "I'm going, I'm going." She stepped out of her bedroom heading to the bathroom at the end of the corridor, making her way inside. She closed the door with a small slam—not enough to be considered slamming; but it left a sound.
Luke stood in the corridor for a moment, still with the lingering thought of Lamina's warning. "I can't seem to catch a break, can I?" he muttered to himself as he headed downstairs.
The moment he made it down, the smell of cooking rice and grilled fish caught his nose. He turned to the kitchen door on his left, hearing the faint humming of his mother in the room, but he didn't move closer to the kitchen.
Luke quickly turned to the downstairs bathroom opposite to the kitchen, walking a few steps to the door. He opened it, entering the bathroom.
The door shut with a soft click, drowning out the humming from the kitchen. The bathroom wasn't grand—but it felt isolated yet cozy, the walls were painted a casual beige stopping at the glass door with the shower and tub.
Luke pulled off the sweatshirt and tossed it aside, leaving him topless. He stepped in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. His upper body was toned, not bulking, but built for efficiency. His body looked fine, but the deep purple-and-yellow spot over his sternum told another story.
His eyes fixed on his left arm, shoulder stiff and the veins on his forearm looking slightly dark from Vera's demonic energy and the goly water residue.
He tested the fingers of his left hand, closing them into a slow, deliberate fist. They obeyed, but the motion felt heavy, lagging a fraction of a second behind his brain's command—like pulling a wire through thick oil.
The deep bruise over his sternum flared with a hot, dull throb when he took too deep a breath.
'I can still move it,' he thought, his jaw tightening as he reached for the crisp white school shirt hanging on the wall hook. 'Just have to keep the tracking smooth.'
Sliding his left arm into the sleeve required a careful pivot of his shoulder to avoid grinding the stiff joint. He used his right hand to guide the fabric, his movements carrying that same sterile, clinical caution he used when sealing a boundary. But when it came to the buttons, his left thumb slipped twice against the tiny plastic discs.
Luke stared at his uncooperative fingers in the mirror. A flicker of raw, cold frustration broke through his usual calm before he forced his right hand to take over and finish the row alone.
Finally, he pulled on the charcoal-grey Seishu blazer. The heavy, tailored fabric provided a strange sense of relief, immediately burying the ugly purple discoloration of his torso out of sight. It forced him to stand perfectly upright, masking his stiff, protective posture as pristine student discipline.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the black gloves, smoothing the fabric over his knuckles until the fluctuating marks on his skin were completely sealed away.
He blinked once, resetting his eyes, letting the tired, familiar "big brother" smirk slip back onto his face. He opened the door and stepped out to face the kitchen.
"Morning, Mom," Luke said, keeping his voice light as he took his seat at the table.
Sora smiled, setting down a bowl of steamed rice and a plate of grilled fish. "Good morning, Luke. You're up early."
As she leaned in to pour his barley tea, she paused, her nose twitching slightly. She glanced toward the hallway. "Did you drop something in the bathroom? It smells like antiseptic out there."
"Oh, just a minor headache when I woke up," Luke replied smoothly, picking up his chopsticks with his right hand. He casually lifted the rice bowl with his left, masking the slight sluggishness in his shoulder. "I was looking for some aspirin and accidentally knocked over an old bottle of rubbing ethanol in the cabinet. I wiped it up."
Sora's eyes narrowed slightly, her maternal radar picking up the faint rhythm of his rigid movements. "You're sitting awfully straight today. Did you sleep wrong? Your back looks stiff as an iron block."
"Just mid-term stress, Mom. The desks at Seishu are a bit smaller than my old school. My muscles are just tight from the adjustment."
She sat down across from him, her gaze dropping to his hands. Her expression softened into gentle concern. "Are you still wearing those gloves, Luke? Even at the breakfast table? If your hands are cold or your skin is irritated from the transfer, let me take a look at them after you finish."
The question hung in the air, a direct strike against his failing armor. If she touched his hands, she would feel the unnatural, feverish heat of the caged holy-demonic energy.
Luke smoothly pulled his hands back, resting them flat on his lap beneath the edge of the table. "It's fine, Mom, really. Just a habit I picked up from the old track team. Don't worry about it."
"Liar!" a loud voice interrupted.
Miku burst into the kitchen, her uniform half-buttoned and her hair a chaotic nest as she frantically grabbed a piece of toast from the counter. "Onii-chan is just being a weird emo ninja today! Okaa-san, tell him to hurry up, he's going to make us late!"
The sudden explosion of sisterly chaos completely shattered the quiet tension. Sora sighed, her attention instantly shifting to Miku's disastrous hair. "Miku, sit down and button your shirt properly—"
Luke used the split-second distraction to finish his tea, standing up with practiced efficiency. He snatched his schoolbag with his right hand, keeping his left arm steady at his side.
"I'll wait by the gate, Miku," Luke called out, stepping out of the kitchen. As he reached the front door, he let out a quiet, slow breath, relieved to have slipped through the inspection, but fully aware his body was already burning through its limits before his school day had even begun.
◇ ◇ ◇
The school hallway was lively, students chatting through the place as Luke walked with Miku. His eyes darted all over the place, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The warning from Lamina, 'they won't let us roam free for long' echoed in his head.
Miku glanced at Luke for a moment, noticing his scanning.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what, exactly?" Luke asked, stopping his lookout, turning his attention to Miku.
Miku sighed, "protecting me from things that aren't there, onii-chan. It worries me a bit."
Luke looked at her, watching her tighten the grip on her school bag slightly, but noticeable to him. 'She's right, I am being paranoid,' he thought. He quickly reached for Miku's head, patting it softly.
"Come on, enough with the long face. Go to class, idiot," he said, forcing his voice to lose its sharp edge. "Don't fall asleep during the quiz."
Miku pouted, swatting his hand away before jogging down the hall toward the middle-school wing, waving over her shoulder. Luke watched her disappear into the crowd of students before turning toward his own homeroom.
He took a breath, trying to let his rigid shoulders drop, but the sudden shift in focus made the world tilt.
As he walked into the classroom, the sheer volume of voices—the laughing, the scraping of chairs, and the squeak of indoor shoes hit his heightened senses like a wave. He made his way to his desk near the window, but as he sat down his Apostle perception glitched. For a split second, the vibrant blue signatures of his classmates flickered, distorting into unstable, translucent wireframes.
Luke gripped the edge of his desk with his right hand, his knuckles turning white under his glove as he forced his eyes shut to break the illusion. He was sweating.
"Kazama-kun?"
His eyes snapped open. A girl stood in front of his desk, with her short blonde hair styled in a bob, and her blazer wrapped around the waist of her slightly athletic frame. It was Subaru Itsuka.
Subaru spoke, "are you okay? You look terrible."
Luke gave a tired smile, "relax, Subaru I'm just a bit tired," he replied. "Didn't sleep too well though."
She didn't look convinced. Her blue eyes studied him intently, but she couldn't read Luke anyway. Subaru sighed, "fine, but try the infirmary after school just in case."
"Will do."
As she took her seat next to his, Miss Matsukaze walked in, a stack of printouts resting against her hip. She quickly told the students to prepare for the lesson.
Luke managed to survive the threat of the nurse's office, but the rest of the day passed in a blurred, grueling fog. He didn't process a single word of the lectures. Instead, his entire mental capacity was consumed by a quiet battle against his own biology—holding his breath whenever a sharp spike of pain radiated from his sternum, and forcing his sluggish left hand to casually grip pencils and turn pages so the students around him wouldn't see the tremor. Every ticking second on the classroom clock felt like a countdown.
By the time the final bell rang and the classroom emptied, Luke was entirely spent. The "mask" he had meticulously kept up all morning was fraying at the edges.
Leaving his bag at his desk, he walked down the shifting corridors of the old school wing toward the Historic Research Clubroom. The quiet of the isolated hallway was a relief, but as he reached the heavy oak door, the phantom weight of Lamina's warning pressed down on him again.
He didn't knock. He simply turned the brass handle and stepped inside.
The air in the clubroom instantly tasted different—thick, old, and laced with the faint, cold pull of Vera's morningstar presence.
Luke didn't move yet, he simply looked at the three that were present. He waited.
Vera was seated behind her desk like a judge in a courtroom. Ignazio stood beside her, his expression unreadable. Vianne sat on the sofa, taking a quick glance at Luke before going back to her phone. Only Mitoma and Kiyomi were absent.
'Well, so much for a long story short, guess it's the opposite,' he thought, staying quiet as he felt the air grow heavy with every breath.
Vera didn't speak. She slowly closed the leather-bound book on her desk, the soft thud echoing like a gavel in the quiet room. Her violet eyes tracked his stiff posture, pausing briefly on his left arm before locking onto his face. She could clearly see the tremors he was trying so hard to hide.
Ignazio crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "You look like you've been run over by a carriage, Kazama. Or did the transfer curriculum finally catch up to you?"
"Just the usual," Luke lied smoothly, keeping his voice deadpan despite the flare of heat in his sternum. He took a few steps forward, making sure to distribute his weight evenly so he wouldn't limp. "Didn't realize the club was holding a silent auction today."
Vianne didn't look up from her phone, but her thumbs stopped moving. "We were just waiting to see if you'd actually collapse before making it to a chair."
The casual barbs were a shield, and Luke knew it. They weren't asking the real questions yet—not about Lamina, and certainly not about the Vatican—but the weight of what they all knew hung invisibly between them.